In Which Business And Pleasure Are Dealt With Accordingly
by DoubleDecks
Summary: Haddock/Tintin SLASH - Haddock and Tintin are enjoying some personal leisure time when a very interesting prospect rears its head. Warnings: mild bondage
1. Riding On A Nagging Thought

**IN WHICH BUSINESS AND PLEASURE ARE DEALT WITH ACCORDINGLY**

* * *

"You've...never...been _married_, have you?" Tintin inquired offhandedly one morning. "Don't believe I've...ever..._asked_-!"

"Nope," the Captain responded. "...never."

"That's...a shame," Tintin lamented between gasps, readjusting his supporting hand to a less precarious area of the Captain's chest as he grasped himself with the other. "If..._ohh_, if you _could_ marry-"

"In a heartbeat, laddie," Haddock growled as he brushed his thumbs across the boy's milky thighs possessively.

"No, no...what I was..._going _to say was-" Tintin ceased his stroking and reclined, placing both of his palms on the older man's knees as he was madly jostled up and down with greater vigor. "-if you _could_...go back in time and...marry, you know, with- _haah!_...get married to...with a _woman_, would you?"

He watched the sailor gave the question some serious thought through the wave of satisfied emotions that were crossing his features. His expression briefly relaxed into one of disinterest, to the boy's delight.

"No."

"Not even..._oh, gracious-_!" Tintin collected himself back into his fist and a drop of sweat worked its way down his brow, which was creased in helpless exertion. "Not even...for the _romance_ of it all? The...classic _drama_...angle? Like in the pictures?"

"I don't see the point!" Haddock breathed.

"You don't..._ohh~! _You...you don't have to...f-_flatter _me, Captain."

"I'm not trying to," the Captain's rhythm had slowed slightly and he picked it back up again, blowing a lock of hair away from his forehead in irritation. "I absolutely cannot (_hggh! good god lad)_ think of a _single_ dame I'd want to marry!"

"Simone Signoret?"

"Oh, please," Haddock rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Denise Darcel."

"Well...perhaps, but only because she reminds me of you!"

"That's your only criterion for...for wanting to marry someone? I don't believe it."

"Well believe it, darling," Haddock said gruffly, suddenly pulling Tintin down into a heated kiss as he spent himself into the squirming, moaning reporter.


	2. Rethinking Escape

"Imagine we could get married - if we were ever to separate you'd get half of everything I own!" Haddock proclaimed, billowing a fresh sheet out and spreading it over the bunk.

"Well, then," Tintin replied, "You're just going to have to imagine that we can't, because I am a man...and that I'd have to be _really_ crazy about you to oh...renounce my religion? Endanger my profession? Have no expectation of monetary reward..."

"A gold digger through and through, he is. Not one ounce of selfless loyalty on him."

"Oh, never."

"Watch your head when you come in, I can't imagine how you didn't hit it the first time."

"I did, actually," Tintin ran his fingers along the edge of the porthole.

"Really? You're joking."

"No, it struck me right on the top of the head when I tumbled over. There were two of you for a while."

"Could have fooled me."

Tintin set about inspecting the chamber of his pistol to make sure it was unloaded. He had already checked it twice. "But really, Captain, you've nothing to worry about," he said, replacing the clip and putting the safety on. "I think both of us have known one another long enough by now to confirm I'm not after your money. I'm obviously interested in other things."

"Yeah, and Poseidon help me when you get bored of those," Haddock grumbled good-naturedly. Tintin gave him a testing look and the Captain smiled. "Honestly though, lad, what would you say if I told you," he said, leaning past the reporter and twisting the screws off the porthole cover, "that I wouldn't mind you actually taking half the lot?"

Tintin's eyebrows furrowed. "Oh, surely not," he said softly.

Haddock opened the porthole and turned back to the table, clapping his hands together. "Right. Where did I put those...ah!" he grinned as the reporter passed him the handcuffs. "Perfect."

"I'm not going to take advantage of you like that," Tintin said, climbing onto the bunk and shuffling over to the porthole on his knees. "How exactly is this going to work again?"

"Well, you make your entrance there..."

"Mhm."

"...you do your little bit with the gun and that..."

"Right."

"...only I've got the jump on you this time, and you're getting attached to that there bed, laddie," Haddock drawled, twirling the cuffs around his finger.

"You're the worst kind of revisionist," Tintin quipped, winking.

"And I'm not taking your fortune!" Haddock heard him shout against the chilly wind as he climbed out the porthole.


	3. The French Interrogateur

"I'm just saying, I think it might be best if both of our names are on the deed," the Captain insisted. "I mean, what if something were to happen to me? Knowing my luck..."

"_Prendre le pantalon large_ - trousers _off_," the boy commanded, threading a length of black rope through his palms.

The Captain obliged. "..._anything_ could happen, really; you know how it is in my family...and now that I'm all wrapped up in _your _business-"

"I will not be blamed for any bad luck that befalls you," Tintin replied with a more gentle authority. "Especially when I don't _expect _you to come with me on any of my assignments. As for your family; with all due respect they sort of had a reason for their folly. _Assis_."

The Captain complied, unoffended. He sighed as the young man set about binding him to the Italian iron-wrought chair. "I know, I know...It's just the way I grew up, though! Always fearing summat bad because it most nearly always happened!"

"Oh, come off of it; you've got to get yourself out of that mode of thinking, it's self-destructive," the boy chastised, and a sharp intake of breath from the seadog prompted a pause. "Is it too tight?" the youth inquired.

"Just a bit."

As Tintin slackened up the knots a little he continued, "Anyway, this is _your_ house! You've fought so hard to get it back, it would be selfish of me to assume half the estate!"

"Yeah, but where would it go after that, eh?"

"That better?" The ginger patted the Captain on the back from where he was crouched.

"Much. No, but what I'm saying is that I think you deserve it when I'm gone, I really do! I certainly wouldn't have found it without you..._poppin'_ into my porthole an' all-"

"That sounds filthy," the redhead laughed. "And don't talk like that, you're not going anywhere." He jerked on the ends of the rope to emphasize his point and dusted his hands off. His polished black boots clicked on the tile as he walked a leisurely circle around the chair, studying his construction for weaknesses.

"Then will you at least do me a favor take half the title while I'm still here, then?"

Tintin reappeared in his line of vision after a moment. "I suppose, if it will help you sleep better at night," he said with a roguish smirk, buttoning one of his breast pockets and adjusting his collar.

"It would," the Captain confirmed as the reporter yanked firmly on the bottom hem of his uniform jacket and approached him with his hands clasped behind his back, his demeanor suddenly more regal; though the ever-present blush on his cheeks did not escape him.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes."

Tintin tutted.

"Oh, sorry - _oui_, lieutenant."

"The safeword is 'checkers'." Tintin planted a kiss on the Captain's forehead fondly before smacking him in the face.


	4. A Conspicuous Purchase

"What are you doing in there?"

"Nothing that concerns you, sir," Tintin replied, but the Captain could tell he was smiling.

"Well, I spoke with the clerk today. He says I can't use a warranty deed, and that a trust deed was only for..." Haddock adjusted his reading glasses and shook out the page as it curled. "...where was it...registry...subsequent purchasers...oh, _blast it all!_" he cried, slamming his glasses onto the desk. "Trust, warranty, raggle-taggle ruminants! This is all Greek to me!"

"Oh, but it is your birthday _Capitane_..." Tintin called from the bathroom in a tone that rested between irritated and sultry, and the Captain could hear what sounded like the clinking of glass. "You should not be worrying about these things right now!"

"I know, but - what ARE you doing in there?"

"Like I said, nothing that concerns you - yet," the boy laughed, and Haddock drummed his fingers on his desk impatiently. "Besides, it is a quitclaim deed you require."

"A quitclaim- _of course_," the Captain uttered, his voice brimming with sarcasm. "Of course. Silly me! Seriously though, why am I not just having you do all this for me, eh?"

"Because I'm the one you're transferring the title to! You're going to need to actually get a lawyer one of these days, _mon amour têtu_."

"Lawyers. Ungulates. Fancy-dress freebooters!"

"Now, now, settle down...I'm nearly finished."

"This had better be good."

Tintin went silent for a few minutes and Haddock began to worry that perhaps he had upset him when the lad spoke up again.

"Alright, Captain...I'm_ ready_."

The Captain rose and headed toward the voice, surprised to find a stack of disassembled crates sitting in the corner of the room. Perplexed, he pushed the door to the bathroom open slowly.

He nearly fainted.

Hundreds of empty champagne bottles lined the floor from edge to edge, leaving only a small path for the sailor to make his way across the white tile to where Tintin was nestled in the enormous clawed master bathtub.

Looking very naked. And _very_ inviting.

The boy kicked a foot up playfully, splashing golden bubbly on the floor before writhing onto his side and resting his chin on his hands.

"I would have sent for a giant drinking glass but I figured that would be a bit too much," he said, a modest yet calculating grin appearing on his cherubic face as he placed a single maraschino cherry between his teeth by its stem.

"Oh, you- thundering _typhoons_!" the Captain cried, eyes widening and voice breaking as he rapidly shed himself of his dressing robe, knocking over several bottles. "To think I'd been ordering my Tintins virgin this whole time when I could have been having _this_!"

"I can draw up the recipe for you, if you'd like. Though it isn't quite finished, I should say."

"What else could it possibly need, lad?"

Tintin plucked the cherry from his mouth and offered it to Haddock, who accepted it eagerly.

"I must be shaken."


	5. Finalites

"I wasn't aware champagne could be quite so sticky," Tintin uttered as he stepped out of the car, fidgeting with the seat of his suit trousers. "I still don't feel I quite got it all."

"Should have gone with a drier variety," Haddock drawled thoughtfully, and the reporter laughed.

"See? At the end of the day, you've still got a thing or two to teach me."

"Even though it was you who was seeing me through that - that _torturous trial_ of a-"

"Captain, it was hardly a trial, it was just a few gentlemen walking us through the process-"

"Yeah, and I wonder what conclusions they were drawing, the gibbering anthropoids..."

"Oh, but you know I wouldn't let them draw any conclusions. I refuse to be drawn, _visage crêpelé_, as should you."

"Well, with all the trouble and humiliation we went through we may as well have been getting hitched," the Captain said, and before Tintin could protest the boy found himself being lifted and slung over the former's shoulder unceremoniously as he ascended the steps of the manor and hummed '_Here Comes The Bride_'.

"What are you - hey!" the reporter cried, though he couldn't contain his tumultuous laughter as it was forced from him with prodding, tickling fingers. He wriggled off of Haddock as the two crossed the threshold, sinking to the floor red-faced with a hand clapped over his mouth, try as the Captain might to hold onto his arms. He had never seen the ginger so stricken with the giggles, so abruptly and gleefully lost in happiness, and it made his resolve crumble as well as he too, began howling.

It was good to be home.


End file.
